Slike strani

And weary of her laurelled dust ),
Oh! give her faith that shall endure,
And make her waning strength more sure!
Haste then the Morn with swifter flight,

Thou tardy Night!

In 1884, Mrs. Converse was formally adopted by the Seneca Indians, as had been her father and grandfather before her. It was on the occasion of the re-interment, by the Buffalo Historical Society, of the remains of the famous Red Jacket. Her adoption made her the great-grand-daughter of Red Jacket with all the rights and honors pertaining to the relation.

The poetical work of Mrs. Converse has won high praise. Lord Alfred Tennyson and Dom Pedro emperor of Brazil, each sent to the author graceful letters of commendation on the publication of “Sheaves." Mrs. Converse is also an industrious writer of prose, and has two volumes nearly ready for the press, one to be entitled “The Religious Festivals of the Iroquois Indians," the other “ Mythology and Folk Lore of the North American Indians." In the prime of life, she has doubtless her best work before her.

Mrs. Converse resides in New York City. Per. sonally she is attractive, genial and generous. Her friendships are warm, enthusiastic and abiding. while her heart is sympathetic and her hand open to the needs of her kind. In her presence you forget that she is literary, which is perhaps the most satisfactory social trait any literary woman can exhibit.

MRS. G, A.

If in some hour unknown before,
Within the threshold of thy door,
With face so fair, yet unrevealed,
Whose silent lips are yet unsealed,
Love's messenger, with patience waits,
Conduct him to thy Morning's gates
In crimsoned garments; like the rose
Adorned with dews, that blushing glows
With warmth and trusting tendance wooed,
With Life's dear light through dawn renewed,
And bring Love's day — Love's promised light,

Thou welcome Night!


TO THE NIGHT. The west is barred with hurrying clouds, Within whose deep vermilion shrouds, While soft winds whisper mournful sighs, In fickle lights the dear Day lies; With dreams of distance in her grace, She met her Morn with glowing face; Deserted glory in her glance, She swoons to death, in languid trance And thy uncertain light

Thou hastening Night!

Life's whirl and din!
The sands run in;

Work, busy brain;
Toil, care, and pain
Encompass thee;
Thy destiny,
Thine equity,

Thy God!


If o'er thy broad and darkling land
Day's ghost go wandering, hand in hand
With some sad secret of Life's years,
Keeping her vigils through her tears,
With uncreated Morrow's day
(Thy inward light), make fond delay,
And kiss, with lingering, fragrant breath,
Sweet Sleep — the image of this death
To dreams of worlds more bright,

Thou friendly Night!

DEATH solves the doubt!
The sands run out;

Rest, weary brain,
From care and pain,
And agony,
In harmony,

Of God!


If from the solitudes of pain -
Through veiling mists of sorrow's rain
To thy lone shrine, where tapers burn,
In quest of peace, some hope return
(Her future lost - through loss of trust -

Many a bud enfolds a hue that never sees the sun; Unfriendly thoughts have blasted hopes that love

has just begun;

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On, on she reads; hushed on her snowy breast,

Lulled in its peace as of a holy shrine, Each tender sigh doth rock itself to rest;

Her face, love lit, doth glow with fire divine, Her trembling voice doth linger long“ Jealousy is cruel as the grave,

The coals thereof are coals of fire

With most vehement flame;"
Yet as she reads the singer's song

She seems to grow more brave
In harmony of Israel's lyre

Attuned to love's dear name!

Clasping with velvet touches, hand in hand, Love sings to love this song through all the land Where marriage bells, with silver iterance, call, Love loveth love, and love is all-in-all!


DAISY. Undergrowth of Nature's heart, and bloom that robes the sod.

-To a Field Daisy.

OCTOBER The fields are sere, the garners filled, the reapers'

harvest hymns Are echoed through the dells, where nests hang

empty on the limbs; The streams are haunted with the sighs of muffled

summer songs, While on their lonely ripples float the willow leaves in throngs.

- Regal October. SPRING.

Dear, fair white hands wherein the Good Book lies,

Dear, tender sighs that hush upon her breast, Dear, blue-veined lids that veil her violet eyes,

Unto my life thou art sweet peace and rest! Love, set me as a seal upon her heart, Thou, love, art strong—as strong as death thou art!

SACRIFICE, To inflictions' painful bondage deliverance doth

The sun evokes from shadows, in the genial rite Of consecrated wedlock, the day from winter's night.

- Waiting: RETROSPECT.

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Trace thou the blooming vines of passion-flowers -
The tender symbols of a sacrifice —
Where'er the hungry dust of grief may lie,
To feed the thirsty sorrow with their dews!


And round the sovereign bloom (quite near the rose)
The modest sisterhood - the little nuns
Who veil their sweets in shade - the violets,
Amid the gorgeous blushes of the court,
Would grace perfume with blue-eyed beauty's

The wild-wood loveliness of nature's heart,
That lends, in truthfulness, to quiet lives,
The rest that even blossoms crave in shade!

Even so, past noon, the love-lorn day pursues
The sun, entranced in brightness of its face,

And radiant grows, within, of pure delight! Yet Peace, in quiet hushfulness, subdues Her joy and glowing, in the star-lit space And shadowed glory of the holy night!

-Peace. FAITH.

- Ibid.


The watch of Eternity - Death!
Transition of Soul by a breath.

- Ibid.
Love makes his law the undertune
And fragrance of the discrowned noon.
His clasping tendrils wreathe and bind
All blooms the questing south winds find.

-Love's Gifts.

We love, my sweetheart! tell it o'er and o'er!
I love! thou lov'st! we love forevermore!

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of October, 1833. He was destined for the legal profession, but while serving with a solicitor, was offered an appointment in Her Majesty's Civil Service which he accepted, and in 1854 commenced an official career which has proved a successful one.

He has found time amid his exacting duties to indulge his natural love of literature and to make many a contribution in prose and verse to journals and magazines. In addition to the collection of poems under the title “ By Solent and Danube" he has written many verses of a humorous character, and is the author of several plays.

He is known to a large circle as an elocutionist of great power and brilliancy: perhaps, as an oral interpreter of Tennyson he has never been surpassed.

A. N. J.

you walk'd beneath the blossomsin the spring ?

In the spring ?
Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring?

When the pink cascades are falling,
And the silver brooklets brawling,
And the cuckoo bird is calling,

In the spring!

Have you seen a merry bridal in the spring ?

In the spring ?
In an English apple-county in the spring ?

When the bride and maidens wear
Apple blossoms in their hair,
Apple blossoms everywhere

In the spring!


Rich was the harvest he vow'd to reap,

When he planted his germ below;
· Love will give sheaves of red gold to keep,
And its fruit will be sweet, I know."

But his golden sheaves
Are the wrinkled leaves

By the gusty autumn borne;
And his fruit, the red berries of briony

That cling round a wither'd thorn.

If you have not, then you know not, in the spring,

In the spring!
Half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring.

No sweet sight can I remember
Half so precious, half so tender,
As the apple blossoms render

In the spring!

Roses will throw me their blooms," she said,

" When winter is white on the tree; Love will bring clusters when leaves are dead The vine's purple clusters to me."

But her rose-tree stands
With roseless hands,

In the cold bleak air forlorn;
And her clusters are berries of briony

That cling round a wither'd thorn.

How shall I breathe to thee

From my worn heart,
Words of sweet sympathy,
Thoughts that shall solace thee

In thy hard part?
How shall I preach to thee

The sacred strain;
Tell thee, thy loss is gain;
Tell thee, thy grief is joy;
Tell thee, thou'lt meet thy boy

In Heaven again?
This part is not for me,
Mine, silently shall be,

To weep with thee.
When slips away

The dreary day
Behind the rounded hills, and solemn night,
Enthroned amid her stars of argent light,
Rules the still world - the mourner's cherish'd hour,
Sacred to grief, and that mysterious power

Which we call memory -
Then, my part shall be

To weep with thee.

Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring ?

In the spring ?
An English apple orchard in the spring ?

When the spreading trees are hoary
With their wealth of promise-glory,
And the mavis pipes his story

In the spring!

Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring?

In the spring ?

When thou, bereft of sleep,
Shalt prayerful vigil keep,
And, peering in the gloom

Of encurtain'd room,
Shalt see, in vision-wise, his little cot,

Shalt hear his evening prayer,
And kiss his forehead fair,

Stroke his yellow hair,
Then listen for thy darling's sleeping breath,

Now hush'd in death;
And when Reality, with stony eyes,
Sits on thy couch, and thou dost realize

The dread decree-
“ Thou shalt go to him, but he
Shall not, shall not return to thee;".
When the fountains of thy woe

Thine eyelids overflow,
Drenching thy pillow in a bitter sea,

Then will I think of thee,
Then my part shall be

To weep with thee.
Weep, 'twill ease thy pain;
Tears are the kindly rain

By Heaven sent
To moisten our hard hearts beneath its sky,
Lest they should shrink, and shrivel, and be dry;
Lest the white blooms of Charity should die,

Faded and spent.
Oh! there is joy in sadness,

There is bliss in tears -
Amid the summer showers,

The archéd bow appears -
A promise gleaming through the mists of years,
In characters that burn and glow -
Sorrow shall cease- tears shall not always flow.

Whereof his closest knoweth not the plan,-
Can aught dwell there save self and solitude ?

No other self walks with me o'er its floors;

The nearest, dearest, truest of my friends

Knows but the vestibule; nor ever wends
Beyond the silence of its guarded doors.

The reflex of a smile is sometime thrown,

A Mother's smile, upon its inner way,

Sweet lips and eyes of tenderness, to stay
Awhile with Love; but not to keep the throne.

The crypt is void, although a dear dead face,

With faint aureola of angel's hair,

Brings down at times a light that lingers there, That sheds its gold, yet cannot fill the place.

V. O small white hand now clasping nothingness!

O voice of song! could she in life have fill'd

The inner chamber and its aching still'd ? Nay- God alone must fill it -- nothing less!

THE PEARL OF PEACE. A BIVALVE feeding in the warm salt sea

Draws inward, with the wave, a sandy grain,

Which, not returning with the wave again,
Remains henceforth its secret grief to be.
Day after day, so sea-wise folk agree,

The creature hides it in a dew-like rain

Of ceaseless tears, till, harden'd out of pain, A precious pearl is fashion'd perfectly. From outer seas of passion, seas of strife, There drifts at times upon the human heart

A secret rankling grief that day by day We cover with the bitter tears of life, Till, wrought of pain from out our nobler part,

The pearl of Peace remains with us alway.


The human lifts a wailing to be heard,

And clinging hands to clutch the dim Unknown

That draws forever back behind His throne Who gives good gifts; but speaketh not a word.

II. The world grows old : still lifts the bitter breath :

Why? Tell us — Why? behind our prison bars !

O Children! are we wise? Hope crown'd with stars Is ours - and Love that dieth not- and Death!

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1. Cax aught into the Innermost intrude ?

The cryptic chamber of the heart of man,

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